Going Back
by Saracen
Summary: Caught between the desires of his heart and the needs of his body, a young man tries to regain his past. Set in Simutronic's DragonRealms.


Dio flicked away another flea. It had been almost a year since he'd had to deal with fleas in his clothes, other than from trapped boxes and he remembered, now, how annoying they were. "Go away." He threw another of the creatures into the wall across the alley.  
  
So far, Elantha had been wonderful. He'd met countless new friends, probably made a few enemies, and discovered one truly fantastic, amazing thing, love. He sighed and peered out into the street. Here on Ratha, the common citizens far outnumbered the adventurers, unlike Crossings, when he'd first come down into the realms. But here, like there, they were invisible, and now so was he.  
  
Not in a fun way invisible, though. Yet another adventurer, one he knew well, passed him by without even a glance. Normally the man never shut up! Dio giggled, thinking of how many times he'd wished for a simple silence spell. No, he didn't really chafe under the restrictions on being an empath, not in his own heart. Sure there were times when he'd like to be able to slap someone senseless, but they were fewer and fewer as he grew into his new life.  
  
To tell the truth, there really was only one fly in the ointment, as it were. Although having picked up the habit of giggling from Crymthann, his lover, was occasionally irritating as well. No, the real irritation was in not getting laid anywhere near as often as he was used to.  
  
His whole body ached, from his hair to his toenails with the need for some kind of real release. But Crym didn't need sex. He had it when he wanted it, which was rarely, and often enough under duress. Dio didn't want Crym unwilling. He didn't want Crym, physically, at all if it were merely a burden or a bother to the much older, non-human. Now he knew why elves had so few children, even those who slept with other elves. They didn't do it very often.  
  
Crym had brought up, repeatedly, the idea of Dio taking another lover. But he didn't want someone else, he wanted Crymthann. His wonderful long fingered hands, his sleek body, the fine hair outlining muscles gained through almost a dozen years in the realms, even his often wicked sense of humor and biting commentary on the people around them, aroused and attracted Dio like no one else.  
  
Dio turned to face the wall and try to at least make his thoughts a bit less known to everyone on the street. In his usual armor, a hard-on was a painful inconvenience. In the loose trousers he now wore, it was as blatant as a whore's wink.  
  
"Hey, honey, wanna come play?"  
  
Speaking of whores, Dio looked up into the overblown charms of someone of that very same profession.  
  
"Only if you've got a brother with an ass as nice as those tits!" He shouted back, glad to be free of the gods' constant observation.   
  
A bawdy swain staggered up, loosened his drawers and started pissing on the wall next to Dio. The man was well hung. He'd noticed as much fighting 'em with Crym. Most of 'em were pretty well hung, from their baskets.  
  
"No one there with an ass as sweet as yours." The swain gave him his dick a suggestive shake. "Whatcha doin' down here, and with those pretty hands?"  
  
"Want one?" Dio reached over and stroked the man. It felt good deep in his body, even as his stomach churned with nerves.  
  
"Want more than a hand, if ye got it." He glanced down.  
  
Dio looked around. There was another alley nearby. He walked off, with a wink over his shoulder. The swain followed, not even doing up his breeches. The paving stones were fairly clean, not surprising with the rain of the past few days.  
  
No sooner had he loosened his own drawers than the swain had him up against the wall. "Yeah, you know you want it." The thrumming tingle of lust caught up with him just in time to not get ripped in two. Dio bit off his own screams as the swain rammed himself home.  
  
Then another arrived, then a third, then a fourth. They weren't clean, they weren't sober, and they had dicks like iron. Dio struggled to breathe, as swain after swain used him as they'd use any other whore. Although at least after the first, he was wet enough with their come he no longer had to worry about being torn up.  
  
There had been a time, he would have reveled in having so many strong men at his command. Making them come with his body and loving it. Now, all he could think of was wanting it over with. Get it done. Finish them off. One of them slapped him, hard, cursing him for being a tease. He sucked harder, desperate to finish, find some kind of release of his own. But he softened, even as one calloused, kind hand began to stroke him.  
  
"You've done this before honey. My mates and I are through. Let it out and we'll pay ye well." A baritone voice rasped in his ear.  
  
Dio bit back his sobs and thought of Crymthann's peculiar mix of cultured words and occasionally awkward pronunciation. It was enough to bring back his own desire, at least enough to give in to the man's stroking.  
  
"There ye go." He patted Dio on the shoulder, as if he were a horse or a steer. The was a soft clatter, footsteps, and the alley was empty.  
  
He glanced aside and saw a small pouch, a gem pouch, over half full. Dio gagged. Bile burned the back of his throat. Then the harsh, bitter taste of the come he'd swallowed pushed him over the edge. He retched and threw up everything he'd eaten or drank for the last day it seemed. When he was finally done, he was dripping with sweat and shivering convulsively in the rain.  
  
They'd not really used him that hard. He'd had far worse. At least they'd made sure he'd not been left wanting. He pulled up his trousers and fastened the pouch inside the waistband.  
  
Dio looked up into the night sky. Heavy clouds blocked the stars, not to mention the smoke of the cheap torches and cook fires. He longed for his lovely greatcloak and soft doeskin breeches.  
  
But after this, debacle, Crym would never want him again. He'd soiled himself with these men, even if he'd been the fool to come down here in the first place.  
  
Staggering, as if drunk, Dio headed down towards the caves where the sand sprites lived. His hair was matted to his scalp with sweat, and other things. He could still taste the stale sweat and harsh musk of the swains' bodies, so very different from the sweet scent and taste of Crymthann.  
  
The ocean waves, even so very tiny here amid the tide pools, nearly knocked himself off his feet. There were people going in and out of the cave, laughing and joking on their way to hunt. The cool water made the abused muscles in his legs cramp.  
  
He waded out further, wanting to feel the ocean's power on his body. Some people called the ocean female. Dio only knew he loved the waves, with their unrelenting strength. The salt burned in the scrapes the swain had left on him. He started to cast a healing spell, then released it. They and he were not of that world, of magic and love.  
  
Dio glanced back at the shore, nearly hidden behind the looming cave. The gem pouch weighted heavily against his thigh. A tear mingled with the rain. He ducked under the water, washing clean his body, if not his mind. He'd done it. He'd done what Crym had wanted of him. He'd taken other men to his bed, so he no longer ached with a desire Crymthann couldn't feel.  
  
Why did he still feel like throwing up? There'd been nothing more to his contact with the swain than the desires of his body. He hadn't betrayed Crym with anyone who could possibly ever turn into a rival. Why did he feel as if he'd betrayed both of them?  
  
  
  
The padding and heavy armor had become second nature to him by now. He fastened the countless buckles and checked the fit. It hadn't changed. The wonderful greatcloak Crymthann had bought him settled around his shoulders, as if it were Crym's touch, caressing his skin. He cast a few spells and cleaned up the damage the swain had left behind.  
  
People now stopped him on the street, asking him for healing, for news, for a few minutes of pure gossip. Many were people who hunted the bawdy swain, perhaps even those who'd taken him not hours before. It was the way of the world.  
  
For a moment, he was alone again. He looked out over the ocean. Wave upon wave lapped at the shoreline, never winning the battle to bring Ratha beneath their surface. He'd seen beneath the surface of Ratha, and perhaps beneath his own surface.  
  
Dio pulled his heavy greatcloak more tightly around his shoulders. The arzumos fur was soft against his cheek, not like Crymthann's hand, with its heavy swordsman's callouses no magic would ever smooth, but soft like the skin of Crymthann's chest or loins, with their elf fine coat of hair. He cried his last tears into the rich, thick fur.  
  
This was where he belonged. Not with the hunted. Not with the nameless. Among his friends, and soon to be family. With his fiancee, in all ways and for all time.  
  
He challenged himself, bringing his chin up and ignoring the burning in his eyes. Crymthann had been both right and wrong. There was far more to love, than pure lust. But love, with no lust at all, was as cruel. There had to be a balance, a way to find it, together. But for now, Dio knew, he'd never go back again. 


End file.
